


The Unholy Siblings

by luna_plath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Canonical Character Death, Churches & Cathedrals, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, Italy, Murder, Poisoning, Renaissance Era, Sibling Incest, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_plath/pseuds/luna_plath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks in Renaissance Italy, with Ned Stark as the Pope of Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unholy Siblings

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Showtime's "The Borgias" but you don't need to have seen that show to read this.

The funeral service had ended some minutes previously, but St. Peter’s had yet to empty, with many figures still in their seats, some with their heads bent in prayer. Sansa remained in the second row, her gaze trained on the altar where her beloved brother had been placed for viewing.

Cardinal Robb Stark had been poisoned a mere three days ago and the gravity of his passing had yet to fully reach his eldest sister. A black veil covering her hair, Sansa made no effort to wipe at her eyes or conceal her tears.

“I never thought it would be him,” she whispered.

From beside her Jon gave a nod in acknowledgement. “It wasn’t meant to be. That wine was meant for father, but Robb insisted on tasting it first…”

A fresh set of tears fell down Sansa’s cheeks. “His eyes were so red and afraid. Jon, who would want to do that to our father?”

He took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I cannot say, but God as my witness, it will be my mission to uncover the perpetrator.”

With everyone consumed with their own grief few noticed when Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Pope Alexander, rested her head on her brother’s shoulder. Jon placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, the two of them clothed in black, forever bound by their shared loss.

Sansa saw her brother only sparingly after Robb’s funeral. Jon would return to the Papal apartments late in the evenings, usually with his manservant Mance at his side, to share news with her father on their investigations. In the wake of her brother’s death the Vatican took on an air of uneasiness, with each of the cardinals wearing wan, troubled expressions, their bright red robes a mockery of Robb’s mourning period.

Her Lady mother had taken the younger children to the countryside outside of Rome, close enough that they could be reached quickly if need be but allowing enough distance to let her family to mourn in peace. There was no such peace for her father, Pope Alexander, formerly Cardinal Eddard Stark. He spent hours in meetings with Vice Chancellor Stannis Baratheon, leaving little time to see his daughter, showing his grief for Robb only in private. 

Sansa wished to retire to country with her mother but she was needed in Rome. With her bother’s death it had become abundantly clear that the Stark papacy had many enemies and, regrettably, she would have to be married again. As her mother had explained, an alliance was needed for the good of the family.

Jon’s expression soured when she told him this, his dark features, so like their father’s, thrown into shadow by the candlelight of her bedchamber.

“I shall hate to see it,” he confessed, brushing her auburn hair behind her ear. “I am afraid it will take more than a marriage to protect our family, sis.”

They had not always been close, Jon and herself. She had still been a girl when he had gone off to fight with the condottieri, bearing arms with their uncle Benjen, a world apart from the life she led at her mother’s villa in Rome. In contrast, as a Bishop and later a Cardinal Robb had spent most of his time in Rome with their family. She had grown close with him until such time as their father had become Pope, an event that changed the circumstances of the Stark family forever.

Her uncle Benjen had perished in a fight between the Colonna and the Orsini, one of many petty squabbles among the old Roman families and perhaps a harbinger of further loss for the Starks. In light of this, Jon had been given charge of the Papal Armies, a great responsibility for one so young, it had been said, but it had brought him back to Rome all the same. Now they were the only two left with her father.

Sansa and Jon often retired to her chambers, finding that it was one of the few places in the Vatican without spies. Her hair unbound, she lay on her side, watching her half-brother in the dim light, a question on her lips.

“Will you marry me, Jon?” she asked.

To his credit, he did not outright dismiss the idea. “Hm. We could run away, change our names, live out our days in some little fishing village. Perhaps it would be nice to be Jon and Sansa Stark no more.”

Taking in the way his dark hair curled, the way his jaw looked with it’s trace of stubble, Sansa held her tongue, hoping that her brother would not see the seriousness of her proposal. No one could ever know her true heart, not even Jon, for she hardly trusted herself to even think of her feelings when she was around him.

“Yes, I think I’d like that,” Sansa said, meaning every word.

_Fin._


End file.
